p to us, Anderson begged him to sit down, and he
told him what we had been discoursing about. I had already stated my
objections to enter on board of a man-of-war.

"Well," said my father, "I may come athwart hawse of that old piccaroon
yet, if he don't look out. Not that I mind your going to sea, Jack, as
your father did before you; but what he says about the sarvice is a
confounded lie. Let a man do his duty, and the sarvice is a good one;
and a man who is provided for as he is, ought to be ashamed of himself
to speak as he has done, the old rascal. Still, I do not care for your
entering the sarvice so young. It would be better that you were first
apprentice and learned your duty; and as soon as your time is out, you
will be pressed, of course, and then you would sarve the King. I see no
objection to all that."

"But why do you want so particularly to go to sea, Jack?" observed
Anderson.

"I don't like being a beggar--begging for halfpence!" replied I.

"And Spicer told you that you were a beggar?" said Peter.

"He did."

"Jack, if that is the case, we are all beggars; for we all work, and
receive what money we can get for our work. There is no shame in that."

"I can't bear to think of it," replied I, as the tears came into my
eyes.

"Well, well! I see how it is," replied Anderson; "it's a pity you ever
fell in with that man."

"That's true as gospel," observed my father; "but still, if he had said
nothing worse than that, I should not have minded. I do think that Jack
is now old enough to do something better; and I must say, I do not
dislike his wishing so to do--for it is begging for halfpence, arter
all."

"Well, boy," said Peter Anderson, "suppose you leave your father and me
to talk over the matter; and to-morrow, by this time, we will tell you
what we think will be best."

"Anything--anything," replied I, "but being a beggar."

"Go along, you are a foolish boy," said Anderson.

"I like his spirit, though," said my father, as I walked away.

On the next day the important question was to be decided. I did not go
to the stairs to follow up my vocation. I had talked the matter over
with Virginia, who, although she did not like that I should go away, had
agreed with me that she objected to my begging for money. I waited very
impatiently for the time that Anderson had appointed, and, at last, he
and my father came together, when the former said:

"Well, Jack, it appears that you do not like to be a